


solare

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abuse Aftermath, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Lance is in a bad situation with Lotor, Langst, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Protective Keith (Voltron), though he doesn't really know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Keith is worried. Something is going on with Lance. He knows it. But Lance hasn't really talked to him in months.All Keith can do is be there for Lance, and try not to stew in his own anxiety in the process.––Or 5 times Keith didn't realize he was in love with Lance and the 1 time he did.





	solare

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a lot of personal catharsis, I kinda needed to get a few things out of my head and this sort of became a thing. 
> 
> The title comes from the italian expression 'una persona solare' which roughly translates to 'a sunny-natured person' which is Lance in a nutshell, I find.

• 1 •

 

Keith’s body has turned traitor.

Sometime within the past month, some way, some how, his stomach decided that coffee was no longer acceptable as a method of forcing himself to be a functional human being in modern educational society—a society built upon cramming too much information, too fast into too many people to the point the only possible way to learn everything in time was to wake the fuck up artificially.

College student plus coffee equals good.

College student minus coffee equals bad.

And Keith could no longer drink coffee.

Traitorous body.

His mind is sluggish as the heels of his boots scuff against the concrete and he buries his face further into his scarf, out of the cold. His fingers curl into his palms reflexively at the sight of falling flakes and he shoves his hands deep into his pockets to keep them warm.

It got way too cold, way too fast.

It was too early for this.

The halls of the college are relatively empty and his footsteps echo in the space. He lets out a long low breath and runs a hand through his hair, frowning at the snow. It’s not even November yet.

He shimmies through the turnstiles and into the library, relishing in the warmth and silence. He hates getting up early, but the quiet and peace that comes with nobody being around is worth it. Sometimes.

Not today.

He drops into a familiar chair and lets his backpack fall to the floor with a thump that promises bent textbook corners, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You look like shit.”

Keith slumps forward onto the table, arms crossed, and lazily looks in Pidge’s direction. “Thanks.”

“Forgot your morning coffee or something?” she looks back to her screen and Keith sighs.

“Apparently I can’t drink coffee anymore.”

That gets her attention. She still clacks away at the keys but spares a glance toward Keith with a raised eyebrow, “Have your insides finally become as black as your soul? Is it rejecting the darkness?”

Keith glares at her. “If I don’t want to be in a fuck-ton of pain all day, I can’t drink coffee.” His voice is muffled by the sleeves of his jacket, and he turns his head to lay down on his makeshift pillow.

Pidge’s sarcasm immediately vanishes. “Dude, that’s such shit, oh my god.”

“Tell me about it,” he grumbles.

“You know if you can’t drink coffee anymore, you could just eat an apple.”

Both Keith and Pidge turn to Hunk, hunched over a slew of books. He doesn't look up at them as he copies something down from one of the texts.

“What?” Keith’s voice cracks and he winces internally.

“Have you reverted to your prepubescent state without your coffee, Keith?”

“Shut up, Pidge.”

Hunk closes one book and moves another to take its place. “Yeah,” he continues, “the natural glucose provides a steady source of sugar that wakes you up gradually, and the vitamins from the skin are released slowly as it’s digested and make you feel more awake. There’s no crash because there’s no caffeine and—” Hunk finally looks up from his notes to meet Keith’s glare, “— _and_ shutting up now. Okay.”

“Hunk,” Keith sighs, “I appreciate your trying to help, but I don't need food science solutions.”

Hunk offers a sympathetic smile.

Keith morphs his glare into something more akin to exhaustion than irritation as he sits up and arches back in his chair. “It’s not just about waking up. I actually _like_ coffee. It makes me happy and makes starting the day a little less shitty.”

“I thought that was _my_ job.”

Keith’s stomach flips.

He doesn't need to turn around to see the blinding smile and tanned skin he knows is right there.

“Hey, Lance, ’bout time you got— _what the hell are you wearing?”_ Pidge stops her typing, gaze pointedly fixed just above Keith’s head.

“What?” The chair legs next to Keith drag over the carpet as Lance pulls it out. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah. Cold, not sunny,” Pidge’s brow furrows, “and aren’t those my sunglasses?”

“No, they’re Keith’s.” Lance crosses his arms out of the corner of Keith’s eye.

“Yeah, which he stole from me, so….mine,” Pidge holds out a hand, “give ‘em here.”

“Finders keepers, Pidgeon,” Lance singsongs, “the only way you’re getting these off my face today is if—”

In one swift movement, Pidge leaps halfway over the desk, snatches the glasses off the bridge of Lance’s nose, slides back down in her chair, and clacks away at the keys like nothing happened.

Lance lets out a squeak and immediately pulls the black beanie firmly down his forehead. A ratty old thing of Keith’s he’s been looking for for ages.

“Pidge, you can’t just— _hey!”_

Keith snatches the hat from Lance’s head and shoves it deep into one of his backpack pockets, switching it out for his notes and textbook. At the sound of Lance’s protest, he quirks a brow. “What? It’s mine. I’ve been looking for it for months.”

“You—you can’t—you just—” Lance sputters, hands flying to cover his forehead. “I _need_ that!”

“Why?” Keith smirks.

Lance huffs and looks down, mumbling something.

“What’s that?”

“I said, I’m having a bad eyebrow day.”

Keith blinks. “A bad eyebrow day.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Lance groans, “a bad eyebrow day. I took a shower but didn’t smooth them down right away and now they’re all crinkled and I need the damn hat to cover them since I can’t fix them so can you give it back already?” He flops over Keith’s lap, reaching for the zipper of his pack.

Keith just rolls his eyes and lifts a knee so Lance’s fingers fall centimetres short.

“Is it even possible to have a bad eyebrow day?” Hunk asks, and Lance turns to him.

“Yes, Hunk, it is,” Lance nearly yells, sitting up and pointing dramatically to them, “do you not _see_ this? They’re all over the place, and I can’t be yanking out the ones that are the problem when there’s like…ten of them!”

Hunk still doesn’t look up from his notes, “So why don’t you just go fix them in the bathroom?”

Lance guffaws. “With _sink_ water?!”

“It’s just as good,” Pidge sounds.

“Heathens,” Lance hisses, “the lot of you.”

“Just go take another shower then if you’re so adamant about the water,” Keith says. He manages a side glance at Lance. At Lance’s deflated expression he looks away and flips open his textbook.

“I don’t have _time_ , Keith,” Lance crumples forward onto some of Hunk’s things, “I have to study now and then a date later. There’s no time to fix it.”

“Well, find something else to cover it then,” Hunk sighs.

“Like what?” Lance’s voice is just barely audible as he sets his chin down on the table and looks at Hunk. 

It takes about two seconds for Lance’s expression to go from defeat to elation, and then adjust minutely into something way too open to be as innocent as he intends.

“Hunk,” Lance lures, scooting his chair closer to him, “Hunk-a-lunk. Hunk-a-licious, Hunky, Hunk-a-burnin’-love, have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Hunk doesn't even spare him a glance. “I love you too, Lance, but whatever you want isn't happening.”

Lance leans his head on Hunk’s shoulder, “Hunky-bear.”

“No, Lance.”

Lance pouts, “But you have a ton of headbands.”

“Not happening, buddy.”

Keith snickers and turns back to his books.

“Lance,” Pidge interjects, “I invited you here cause you need help. We’re studying. So either grab your books and get to it, or go home and take your shower.”

Lance shuffles back over to his original spot, “You’re no fun, Pidgey.”

“Not my job to be.”

Keith manages to forcibly tune Lance out and immerse himself in supernovas, gravity, and the black holes that can come with them. There’s a joke in there somewhere that Pidge would make in regards to him, but he’s too tired to think much beyond the words right in front of his face. They all have midterms later and Keith can’t afford not to focus.

Lance’s presence makes that even more difficult.

Keith can feel his aura. Big, bright, heavy, thick, larger than life and barely contained. He’s always warm and buzzing with energy. Fidgety. Normally it’s just background noise to Keith, but his exhaustion has his nerve endings raw and overly aware of every move Lance is making.

He’s reading over the same paragraph for the fifth time when he snaps.

“Can you cut that out,” he hisses, and Lance looks over at him quizzically with big, blue doe-eyes. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing and Keith’s voice comes out harsher than he intends. He inwardly flinches at Lance’s open vulnerability.

“Cut what out?” Lance tilts his head to one side.

Keith juts his chin toward Lance’s bouncing leg. “That.”

Lance follows Keith’s gaze and immediately stops with a faint, “Sorry.”

Keith just blinks at him.

What?

He looks to Pidge who’s glances back and forth between Lance and him with the same incredulous look on her face. _What’s going on?_ she mouths.

Keith shrugs and looks to Hunk who’s still focused on his studies.

He’d have to ask him about it later.

Keith looks back to Lance.

He’s staring intently at the pages in front of him, fidgeting with a pencil between two fingers so fast it looks like a blurry yellow bow. He holds it above the tabletop, just millimetres away from hitting the laminate. He’s propped his head up with his free hand and bites at his lower lip. He’s here. He’s Lance.

But his gaze is vacant.

He never just stops what he’s doing without being… _Lance_ about it. He teases and flails and smiles and gets into little spats before starting up something else to be funny.

Right now, he’s quiet.

He’s never quiet. Even when studying, _something_ about him is loud.

Keith swallows and finds Pidge still looking from Lance, back to him. He’s sure that he’s got the same expression that she does. Pidge runs a hand down her face and takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. _Later_ , she mouths at him.

Keith nods.

He manages to push his anxiety down long enough to get lost in studying again, only resurfacing when Hunk and Pidge stand from their seats and start packing up.

“Where you guys going?” Keith blinks to clear his blurry vision.

“We’ve got midterms in about twenty,” Pidge shoves her laptop into her bag. 

“Hey,” Lance’s eyes go wide, “you were supposed to help me with this statistics final today.”

Pidge waves him off, “Keith aced that last year, he can give you a hand.” She throws Keith a small smirk and he narrows his eyes at her.

Hunk pulls Lance from his chair and gives him a squeeze, managing to get a bit of a laugh out of him. “Miss you, buddy, you need to come ‘round more when it’s not for school.”

Lance smiles up at him, “Sure thing, Hunk. I’m gunna cash in on that dinner you owe me.”

Hunk beams, “Yeah. I can try a few things out on you. I’m working on this modified—”

Pidge pulls Hunk away from Lance and pushes him toward the library entrance. “Test now, talk later. We gotta go.” Pidge gives Lance a rare smile and wave, “Catchya later, Lance.”

Lance returns the gesture with a small salut, “See ya, Pidge.”

Once Hunk and Pidge are gone, Keith doesn't quite know what to do. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before knocking at his chest with his knuckles. Being alone with Lance shouldn’t feel like this. It never has before.

He angles himself toward Lance with a sigh, “You need a hand with stats?”

Lance raises an eyebrow at him before shaking his head with a small smile, “Nah. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it, mullet.”

Keith glares and hooks his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I don’t have a mullet,” he mumbles.

Lance snickers, “Keith, you have the mulletiest mullet that ever did mullet.”

Keith just blinks. “That doesn't even make sense.”

“Sure it does,” Lance beams.

Keith can’t help the corners of his mouth quirking up.

“Eey! There it is,” the impossibly large grin on Lance’s face gets even bigger. “I got Keith Kogane to smile. Success!”

Keith crosses his arms and ducks his head away, “Shut up.”

“Nope,” Lance slings an arm around Keith’s shoulders, “I haven’t done that nearly enough lately. I gotta make up for it as much as I can.” Lance tugs him closer. “After all, you’re in need of something to make your days a little less shitty. I’ll take that challenge.”

Keith really can’t help the smile this time. “Someone’s full of himself.”

“Well of course I’m full of myself,” Lance lets go and sits back in his chair, “who else would I be full of?” He winks.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Keith questions, arms crossed.

Lance smirks, “That’s kind of the idea there, Keithy-Keith.”

Keith rolls his eyes and faces forward. “Come on, if you need help with stats then pull out your book. I don’t have all day.”

Lance shakes his head, “I don't wanna bother you.”

“You never bother me, Lance,” Keith says. “Never.”

Lance just stares, again silent, but this time less concerning than before. He’s all here this time, not off somewhere else and stuck in his head. It makes Keith feel better.

Lance shakes it off before following Keith’s lead and looking back to his notes.

“Okay,” he starts, “so I’m not really sure about these kinds of questions here.”

Lance has a basic understanding of statistics, but when it comes to working through a few of the formulas, he gets a lot of things mixed up. With a few minor adjustments and Keith sharing some of his tricks and shortcuts, Lance ends up succeeding more than failing and Keith finds himself with an armful of Lance.

He’s warm and smells like vanilla and flowers, a combination that makes Keith’s chest ache.

He’s really missed Lance.

“You’re a lifesaver, Keith,” Lance pulls back and flashes a raw smile. Pure, radiated happiness. “Thank you so much.”

All Keith can manage is, “Anytime.”

“Hey, babe.”

Lance’s head whips around at the sound, and though the smile is still there, it warps into something a little more guarded. His brows tilt upward and in for a split second before smoothing out, relaxed. “Hey.”

Keith ignores the sinking of his stomach and manages a friendly smile. “Hey, Lotor.”

Lotor stands tall on the opposite side of the table and throws him a half-hearted wave. “Hey, Keith. How you been?”

Keith shrugs. He never really has much to talk to Lotor about on the rare occasions they see each other. The last time was Lance’s birthday, and even then Keith mostly kept to himself. “I’ve been alright. You?”

Lotor smiles and crosses his arms, shifting from one foot to the other. “Can’t complain, really. School’s kicking my ass, but what else is new?”

Keith sinks further back into his chair.

Lotor turns to Lance, “Ready to go?”

Lance blinks up at him, a little lost.

“We’ve only got a few hours before our midterms and we were gonna go grab lunch, remember?” Lotor’s gaze narrows. “Did you forget?”

Lance shakes his head, “No, I didn’t.” He stands from his chair and starts folding notes into textbooks before shoving them into his backpack. “Just lost track of time.” He rounds the table in record time, weaving his fingers through Lotor’s.

Lotor gives his hand a squeeze and spares a glance at Keith with a smile a little too large, “Good to see you, Keith.” 

Keith just nods.

Lotor makes his way back in the direction of the entrance and Lance cranes his neck over his shoulder, “Thanks for the help, mullet. See you soon, yeah?”

Keith can’t force a smile, not this time. Not watching Lance walk out the door again.

Because he knows he won’t. He won’t see Lance later.

This was the first time he’d seen or heard from him in over two months.

 

• 2 •

 

He’s walking back from a three hour lecture when he sees them.

Lance and Lotor sit opposite Hunk and Pidge in the cafeteria, smiling and laughing. Lance ruffles Pidge’s hair and she swats at his hand, Hunk rips off a chunk of bread and hands it to Lotor, Lotor is kisses Lance’s neck and—

Keith feels sick.

He turns his music up as high as he can stand and keeps his head down as he makes his way to the psychology building. He doesn't realize how fast he’s been walking until the rawness of his throat manages to register and he swallows thickly.

He pounds a fist against the TA’s lounge until the door opens.

Shiro’s brow furrows at his appearance. “Keith?”

Keith opens his mouth to say something but just shakes his head. He doesn't know what to tell Shiro. He doesn't even know why he’s here. It’s so juvenile, so… _high school._

Shiro wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in, guiding him over to the couch. The room is empty for once and clean, with the exception of all the papers strewn over the coffee table. From the few pens and the red markups, it seems Shiro’d been in the middle of marking.

“Sorry,” Keith says softly.

“I was taking a break anyway, Keith,” Shiro makes his way over to the counter and grabs a cup from one of the cupboards. “You’re a welcomed distraction.” 

The faint sound of the Keurig in the background grabs Keith’s attention and he welcomes the mug’s warmth in his hands. Peppermint fills his nose and he unconsciously relaxes. He’s not necessarily the biggest fan of tea, but it does calm him down more often than not.

“I…” his grip tightens on the handle until his knuckles are white, “I think Lance is avoiding me.”

Shiro cocks his head to one side and leans back in his lounge chair. “What makes you say that?”

Keith pulls his legs up onto the couch and crosses them, “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”

“Well,” Shiro crosses ankle over knee, “if you’re thinking that, you’ve gotta have some sort of reason.”

Keith eyes Shiro. “Knock that off. I’m not here for you to ‘shrink’ me.”

Shiro holds his hands up in mock surrender, “I’m not ‘shrinking’ you, Keith. I’m just trying to get you to talk since it seems a part of you needs to let this out.”

Keith swallows.

This isn’t something he’s just thought about recently. It’s been building for a few years now. Since the end of high school and into their first years at University, little by little Lance has disappeared from Keith’s life. They don’t text or see each other much anymore, and Lance has given no indication as to why, or that Keith had done anything wrong. He’s just…gone.

“They’re all in the cafeteria right now,” Keith says softly, “and nobody told me.”

Shiro’s expression softens. “Oh, Keith.”

Keith bristles and stands. “Don’t,” he snarls. “Don’t fucking do that. I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“It’s not pity, Keith,” Shiro gestures to the couch but Keith just sets his tea down and crosses his arms. Shiro looks tired as he runs his metal hand through the white of his hair before leaning forward, forearms against his knees. 

“This,” Keith hisses, pointing back in the direction of the door, “is why I avoided people. _This_ is why I didn’t mind not having friends. Because it hurts so much fucking more than not when the people you care about don't give two shits about you.”

Shiro’s gaze turns hard, “You know that’s not true. They’re your friends. They care.”

“Yeah, right,” Keith lets out a hard laugh and starts pacing, “I barely see them lately.”

“You see Hunk.”

“I work with Hunk, that doesn't really count,” Keith mutters, going quiet. He rubs at his eyes angrily and draws in a harsh breath.

After a few minutes, Shiro speaks up.

“You mentioned Lance,” he starts. “Does this have more to do with him than the others? Is he the one you’re mad at, so you end up pulling in Pidge and Hunk too?”

Keith blinks at that. Is that what he’s doing?

He sees Pidge and Hunk a lot. They study together, and he texts them the most out of everyone in his phone, which isn’t much since he’s not much of a social person in the first place. He knows all their schedules are different, but they still make an effort when they can. It’s a given they’ll see Lance once in awhile too, even if he doesn’t. So does that upset him?

Keith shakes his head. “No, I’m not mad at him. Or them,” he relents, and he feels the anger in his body dissolve into something much softer, but still concerning.

“Then what is it, Keith?” Shiro asks.

Keith turns to him, chest aching, so he whacks his fist against it a few times.

“I’m worried about him,” he finally confesses, avoiding Shiro’s eyes, “and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Shiro watches as he sits back down and picks up the mug again. He doesn't say anything, just watches and waits for Keith to continue.

“Last week, I met Pidge and Hunk in the library to study before our midterms and Lance ended up being there too.” He pauses to take a small sip of peppermint. It scalds his tongue but not too badly.

Shiro crosses his arms over his chest and just listens.

“He was…well…Lance,” Keith says, for lack of a better word since there’s not much more to describe Lance than with his name really. 

Shiro quirks a smile at that. 

“But he got quiet,” he bites the inside of his lower lip, “at something I said that he normally would have given me shit for.” Keith grips the mug tighter. “He got quiet, Shiro.”

Shiro hums. “In the years Lance has been around, he doesn’t go quiet without a reason. Was he hurt maybe?”

Keith shakes his head. “This was different. He gets upset and angry when he gets hurt. He doesn't just…fade.”

“And he hasn’t said anything to anyone about something being wrong?” Shiro asks.

Keith shakes his head again. “Pidge looked just as upset and bothered by it as I was.”

“And what about Hunk?”

Keith takes another drink. “He was busy studying, I don't know if he noticed or if Lance has talked to him and not us but…” he runs a hand through his hair, “fuck.”

Shiro stands from his chair and takes a seat next to Keith, knocking shoulders with him and letting out a long sigh. “You can’t force anything out of him, you just gotta let him come to you.”

Keith glares over at Shiro. “When does that ever work?”

Shiro snorts and raises a brow, “ _Now._ You’re talking to me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been distant the past couple months.”

Keith glares harder. “I told you not to ‘shrink’ me.”

Shiro laughs and pulls Keith in, arm hooked around his neck. He ruffles his hair. “Told ya, Keith, not shrinking you. I’m your brother, I know when you’re upset. Doesn't take a genius to see it.”

Keith shoves Shiro away with a halfhearted smile, “Shut up.”

The smile fades.

“I miss him, Shiro.”

It kills him to say. The words don’t want to come out, because any time he thinks about it it hurts. It makes him want to curl up in a ball and climb under the covers and never have met Lance in the first place.

And then he regrets thinking that because Lance is the best friend he’s ever had.

Lance is his best friend…and he knows he’s not Lance’s. Which is why he’s not mad or upset to see Lance with Hunk and Pidge. They’ve all known each other through high school, but Lance only found and adopted him into their friend group for the last year and a half of it. So no…he’s not mad.

But that doesn't mean it doesn’t suck when his best friend doesn't talk to him anymore.

“I know, kiddo,” Shiro says softly, pulling Keith in and resting his chin atop Keith’s head. Keith bites the inside of his cheek, hard, until the tang of metal washes over his tongue. “He always comes back though, right?”

Keith nods and closes his eyes. “But it’s never been like this before.”

“It sounds to me,” Shiro starts, “that Lance is dealing with something.”

Keith pulls back a bit from Shiro. This close to his chest, his voice is loud and harder to understand no matter how softly he’s speaking.

“Lance, in my experience, has never really been able to keep anything from you,” Shiro lets go as Keith pulls away to look up at him, “and if he’s trying to avoid dealing with what he’s going through, he’s going to avoid you.”

Keith frowns, “But I want to help him.”

“Unfortunately,” Shiro looks away, “he doesn't want help right now.” His expression warps into something that has Keith’s stomach flipping.

“What?” he asks.

Shiro doesn’t say anything and moves to stand but Keith grabs his arm and yanks him back down.

“ _What,_ Shiro,” he presses, gripping at the sleeve of Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, just above his scar, and shakes his head. “He either doesn’t want help,” he lets his hand fall and looks to Keith, “or he doesn't even know he needs help in the first place.”

Keith’s blood runs cold.

He sets his tea down and buries his face in his hands, drawing in a shuddering breath. The sickness in his gut was gone now, sure…but the worry that replaced it in some ways was even worse.

“I just—”

The door to the lounge flies open.

“Hey, Shiro, do you think you can—Keith!”

Keith forces a smile, “Hi, Allura.”

Bright and smiling, Allura rounds the couch and leans over to give him a quick hug. “It’s good to see you,” she pulls back and sets her hands on his shoulders, “it’s been too long.”

He can’t help but return her smile, though his was smaller, “It has.”

She looks back and forth between him and Shiro and immediately covers her forehead with a hand. “I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I?”

Shiro looks to Keith and opens his mouth, but Keith cuts him off, “I was just about to leave actually, don’t worry.”

Allura beams, “Okay. We’ll see you soon though, right Keith?”

Keith nods, “Sure. I’ll come over for dinner.”

“It’s your birthday in a few weeks,” she purses her lips and taps them with a finger and narrowed eyes, “I’m sure I can find something to cook, and if not I could probably bother Hunk, he’s always got good recipes—”

“You don’t have to worry about it, Allura,” Keith stands, “just hanging out and eating pizza is fine.”

Allura just stares at him with wide eyes, “It’s your _birthday,_ Keith.”

He shrugs, “Yeah. Just another day.”

Allura looks grief-stricken. “Well…I mean…”

“Of course we’re doing something, Keith,” Shiro gives no room for protest.

Keith sighs and heads for the door.

“Oh, don’t sound so devastated over the fact you have people who love and care about you and the fact you were born,” Shiro teases.

Keith rolls his eyes, “Whatever, Shiro.” A faint smile ghosts over his features as he waves to Allura and pulls the door to the lounge shut behind him.

He’s not the biggest fan of his birthday. It’s always been a let down. The only one he’s ever really loved that he can really remember was the first one he had with the Shiroganes. They’d gifted him his adoption papers.

They’d also died the year after Shiro turned eighteen.

He hadn’t celebrated much since. It had taken years for him to talk to his friends about his birthday, and even then he was vague about it. Lance was the only one who knew the date.

Even if he was one of those people who liked their birthday…he didn’t really feel much like celebrating. Not right now, anyway.

He wedges his earbuds back in and makes his way in the direction of the college parking lot. He wouldn’t get many more chances to ride Red before it got too cold to be on a motorcycle instead of in a car or bus, and the speed helped him think.

And he really, really needed to stop thinking.

And his chest really, really needed to stop aching.

 

• 3 • 

 

He pours the heated milk down beneath the brewed coffee and swirls it through until he’s drawn a leaf. The smell is heavy in his nose and it clears his head. The more detail the better.

He dusts the top with some pumpkin spice, and the girl he hands the cup to smiles. Though sometimes the special fall drinks can get a bit repetitive, Keith hasn’t minded much lately. It keeps him busy, especially during the rushes.

Not like now when it’s dead.

With the few people in the shop all fed, Keith plops down on a stool and picks his sudoku back up.

He’s about halfway through when a voice comes over his shoulder, “Top right is a nine.”

He flinches in his seat and lightly whacks Hunk in the stomach with the back of his hand. “You gotta stop doing that.”

“You make it too easy,” Hunk smiles, wiping his hands free of flour with a j-cloth. 

Keith looks from Hunk to the kitchen. “Done for today?”

Hunk nods, “Yeah. I’ve got some prep done for the morning staff tomorrow too. Got some dough rising and put together a few icing mixes so all they’ve gotta do is whip it up.”

“I swear the morning people that work after you have it easiest,” Keith yawns and stretches. “Coran letting you use the rest of your time now to work on your own stuff?”

Hunk shakes his head, “Not going to today. I’m working on something now, sure, but not something that involves baking.”

Keith tilts his head to one side, “What’re you working on?”

Hunk’s answering grin has his eyes glinting. “It’s a surprise, Grumpy-Keith.”

Keith crosses his arms, “I’m not grumpy.”

“Whatever you say, Grumpy-Keith.”

He rolls his eyes at that and smiles when Hunk hands him a croissant out of nowhere. Keith eyes it warily before ripping a piece off. “This regular, or some modified, grow-in-crazy-cold-conditions bread?”

“Just a regular cheese croissant,” Hunk laughs, taking a bite of his own, which also appears out of nowhere, “not everything I feed you is modified.”

“I’m like…one of the only people you test these things on, Hunk. You gave me an apple once that tasted like chalk,” Keith argues, voice flat. It was the weirdest apple he’d ever eaten. The texture had been way too hard and just…it was a terrible experience.

“I’ve been worried about the fact that all these cocoa bean trees are being stripped of their chocolate-making amazingness faster than they can grow them back and wanted to see if I could at least try to replicate the taste of chocolate, and to do that I had to remove the taste of apple so…” Hunk trails off and his expression falls. “I still haven’t figured anything out.”

“You will,” Keith smiles and gives Hunk a clap on the shoulder. 

“Thanks, Not-So-Grumpy-Keith.”

“I’m _just_ Keith _!”_  

“Okay, Grumpy-Keith.”

“Oh my god.”

Keith’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he grabs one napkin to set his croissant down on, and another to wipe the butter from his fingers.

_SnapChat from SharpshooterToYourHeart._

Keith’s brow furrows. Lance hasn’t sent him a personal snap in months, so this one’s probably just a snap story he’s forwarded to all his contacts. He stares at the notification on his screen for a bit before looking up.

“Hunk…have you heard from Lance lately?” he asks.

Hunk wipes a few crumbs from his mouth. “Saw him a few days ago at lunch. Why?”

Keith shakes his head, “Is he alright?”

Hunk’s usual open expression deflates into one of worry as he crosses his arms and kicks his heel against the tile a few times. “I was hoping I was just seeing things…but if you’re saying something too…” he runs a hand down his face and looks back to Keith. “I don't know, Keith. He hasn’t said anything to me, but he’s more withdrawn than I’ve ever seen him.”

“But he acts fine,” Keith mutters to himself.

“Yeah. Acts,” Hunk sounds.

Yeah. Acts. Keith can see it too.

“Hi.”

Keith turns to face the cash register and customer. Hunk steps up to ring the order through and Keith goes about heating up milk and brewing coffee. For this one, he grabs a toothpick and uses the dark cream to pull the heart shape into a cat.

Not the best one he’s done, but its getting close and makes the guy smile when he sees it. He nods at Keith before turning away and walking back to his table.

After a few more cups of coffee, the line is empty again and Keith looks back to his phone and the notification still staring at him— _9m ago_.

It’s most likely just a snap story.

He lets out a breath, slides the notification across the screen, and clicks the home button to take him into SnapChat. The little pink square glares at him.

He clicks on it.

It’s not from a snap story.

The picture shows Lance is on his side, in bed, obviously under covers and face half obscured in a pillow. One eye looks at the camera, glossed over with unshed tears and one tear track crossing the bridge of his nose. _Do you ever just hurt for no reason?_

Keith bites his lip and clicks on the camera circle. He snaps a picture of the counter. _Sometimes. Yeah. Something going on?_

Lance opens it almost immediately and sends a picture thats almost the same as the first, except he’s looking down and not at the camera. _I don't know. I just…hurt._

Keith’s not quite sure what to say. He’s never been very good with words. In the past when one of them was going through something, they would usually just hang out or lie down in bed and just be in the same room. But he can’t do that right now.

“Hey, Hunk?”

Hunk is rearranging a few pastries in the front display window. “Yeah, buddy?”

Keith grips his phone, “Do you think you can man the front for a bit?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Hunk turns to him. “Everything alright?”

Keith locks his screen. “Not sure. I’ll let you know.”

“Sure thing,” Hunk says.

Keith disappears into the back lounge area, away from the quiet buzzing of customer’s voices and coffee machines. He pulls up Lance’s phone number in his contacts and quickly punches it into the café’s landline. As stupid as it seems, even after all the years he’s known Lance, he doesn't know his number by heart.

Then again, with cellphones like they are, who really bothers to learn numbers by heart?

Oh right…Lance does.

His thumb hovers over the call button, and he briefly worries about whether he’d be bugging Lance before deciding he’d rather risk irritating him a little as opposed to leaving him lying in bed in pain.

He presses down and holds the phone to his ear.

Lance picks up on the third ring.

“—‘lo?” His voice cracks and Keith’s heart twinges.

“Hey, Lance,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

Keith keeps his eyes on his feet as he paces the break room. “What’s going on?”

“I dunno.” Lance sounds tired. “I really don’t.”

“Did anything happen?” he asks.

There’s a faint rustling on the other end of the phone that Keith assumes is Lance shaking his head before he hears, “No. Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.”

“Do you want me to go?”

There’s a brief pause before he hears, “You’re working.”

Keith shrugs, more to himself than anything. “Hunk’s manning the front and it’s slow right now. Don’t worry about it.”

He can hear Lance swallow. “Does he know you called me?”

“No. I just asked if he could man the front for a bit and he’s all good. It’s your choice if you want to tell him we’ve talked or not.”

There’s a silence on the other end for a few minutes.

“You’re so good to me.”

Keith bites his lip at that and his stomach churns. He’s always had way too many feelings when it comes to his friendship with Lance and how much he cares. Lance was the first person that wasn’t family to never give up on him…even through his ‘emo-moments’ as Pidge has dubbed them. He’s never really said it before.

“You’re my best friend, Lance,” Keith says softly, ignoring the anxiety at admitting it, “why wouldn’t I be good to you?”

“Because I’ve been terrible to you,” his voice is thick and Keith can hear a new wave of tears. “I’ve been so terrible to you, Keith, I’m so sorry.”

“No, Lance,” Keith stops his pacing and crosses his free hand under his elbow over his stomach, “you haven’t.”

“Keith, I—”

“Lance,” he cuts him off, “if you’re dealing with something, and you’re not ready to talk about it, or talking to me you think would make it worse, then I’d rather you didn’t. Of course I always want you to talk to me because I want to help you because I care about you, but if you don't want to, it’s not my place to pry.”

“I want to talk to you,” Lance whispers.

“So talk to me when you can,” Keith says, voice gentle. “I’m right here.”

He hears soft crying on the other end of the phone as he starts walking again, and the faint overall echo of the phone call’s connection. He hears clinking of glass from the front of the shop and the feedback of the sound through the receiver on Lance’s end. He just listens for a little while, staying on the phone so Lance knows someone’s there.

“Do you know how great you are, Lance?” he asks finally.

Lance doesn’t say anything, but he continues anyway.

“Your family loves you to death. Your younger siblings look up to you, your older siblings support you, and the way you are with them…Lance it’s incredible. You make it look absolutely effortless. Talking to people. Interacting with them. Making them smile and laugh.” Keith smiles to himself. The amount of times Lance did something absolutely batshit crazy just to make him laugh were countless.

“And you care about others, probably more than you should,” Keith switches the phone to his other ear and turns around to walk the length of the room again. “You put others before yourself, which is both amazing and can be bad since you often don't think of yourself. Which you should, Lance, because you matter. You really do.”

Keith lets out a long, steady breath and swallows down his anxiety.

“I hate that you’re hurting, and I’d do anything to take that away, and if that means stepping back because you need me to, I will. But the second you need me, Lance, the _second_ you need me, you call me. Promise.” He says it firmly. No room for negotiation.

“Okay,” Lance croaks.

“Promise me, Lance,” he repeats.

“I promise.”

“You’re not a burden, and you’re not worthless. You’re amazing,” he states simply. Because it is. It is _that_ simple. Lance is amazing. He always has been, and Keith’s lucky to have him in his life.

“Thanks, Keith.” It’s barely audible, but it makes Keith smile all the same.

“I’m right here until you want to hang up, okay?”

“Okay.”

Keith can count on one hand the number of time’s he’s had to get serious and comfort Lance over the years, because Lance isn’t one to fall apart easily. He hides what he’s feeling until he can’t anymore and when he breaks down, he breaks down quietly. He doesn't reach out, he doesn't think he can because he has to be strong.

Keith can be strong for him when he needs it, because he does.

At some point in his pacing, Keith starts humming softly, and then starts singing, so quietly it in all honesty couldn’t even be considered singing. Either way, it seems to comfort Lance because when the telltale sound of Lance’s soft snoring comes through the phone, Keith slumps in relief.

Lance would be feeling better in the morning at least.

“Goodnight, Lance,” Keith whispers, ending the call.

 

• 4 •

 

He wraps his arms around his stomach to try and stave off the cold, but it doesn't work too well with the jacket he’s wearing. The amount of shit people gave him for his ‘crop-top’ keeps him wearing it out of sheer spite. He wouldn’t switch over to something warmer, he’d just throw on a long sleeved shirt or something underneath.

It’s not usually this cold when comes here. He didn’t think to bring something else.

He doesn't have many memories of them, he was only five when they’d died, but he remembers his mom used to sing him to sleep and that his dad was a pilot. They would watch the stars together and his mom had painted the night sky on his ceiling. He remembers mapping out the constellations and sitting on his father’s shoulders to trace them.

They’re the reason he loves space. They’re the reason he’s doing what he’s doing.

But little by little, he forgets more and more. Little by little, he hates himself for it.

He has a few pictures, but pictures don't capture the way your parents talk to you, or the sound of their voice and how it feels under your ear when they’re rocking you to sleep. Pictures don't keep how they laugh or tease or _love_ you.

He can’t remember what they sounded like.

“I can’t remember,” he chokes, swallowing down his tears. 

He loved the Shiroganes. He _loves_ the Shiroganes. They found him and saved him and were his parents by everything but blood. He wouldn’t have traded them for anything and is so grateful they picked him.

But he aches at the memory of his birth parents. For the life they had. For the life they could have had. For more time with them.

And he hates to think that.

Even though he knows Shiro would understand what he’s feeling and that it doesn't mean he doesn't love him and consider him and his parents family, a part of him still worries that it could go the opposite way. He doesn't ever want Shiro to think he isn’t grateful to their parents.

It’s just…lonely sometimes. In a way he can’t really explain.

He’s so lost in his head it takes a minute for a weight over his shoulders to register, and the warmth that comes with it. Keith blinks his way back to the present and grabs at the fabric to pull it closed. A body blocks his view of his parents’ tombstones and the soft sound of a zipper cuts through the ringing in his ears.

“You always forget a coat, mullet.”

Keith looks up at Lance. Lance who’s wearing a somber expression that Keith doesn't like, not even for a second. He goes to reach up and smooth out the crease between Lance’s eyebrows, but his arms aren’t through the sleeves of the jacket he’d just been secured in, so he can’t.

“What’re you doing here?” he manages.

Lance pulls his hair out from the collar of both of his jackets. “It’s two weeks before your birthday. You’re always here, and I didn’t want you to be alone again like last year.”

Keith swallows and looks down, hiding behind his bangs. He bites his lower lip, hard. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re dealing with enough and shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

Lance tilts his chin up so Keith has no choice but to look at him. Tears are wiped from his eyes so gently he’s not even sure it’s happened.

“You’re allowed to not be okay, Keith,” Lance says softly. “Even if I’m not at a hundred percent, that doesn't mean you can’t fall apart.”

Keith shakes his head and Lance just pulls him into his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Lance grips at Keith’s back, holding him tight, and Keith buries his face in Lance’s neck and digs his fingers into Lance’s shoulders. A sob rips from his throat involuntarily, and once the first one surfaces he can’t stop the rest.

And it’s selfish of him, to seek comfort in Lance when it shouldn’t be about him right now. He should be able to handle this. It’s been years, and he’s okay most of the time. He can deal with it.

But Lance is warm, and familiar, and everything to Keith, and he’s selfish for being grateful Lance is here and that he remembers. He’s the only one Keith would really want to be here.

“Thank you,” his voice is weak and Lance’s hold tightens in response.

“You don’t need to thank me, Keith,” Lance rumbles. “I’d do anything for you.”

The last thing is said so quietly Keith isn’t sure he heard it or that Lance had meant to say it. It makes him ache just the same.

The weather is cold and Keith is freezing, but Lance is warm.

Lance is always warm.

 

• 5 •

 

“You’d think,” he grunts, pulling at a few tubes, “with that genius brain of yours you’d be able to figure out how to fix this yourself.” 

“I work with computers, Keith,” Pidge quips, and he flinches at the whack to the back of his head, “not cars. So if you want me to help you next time you get a porn virus—”

“I keep telling you, Lance stole my computer!”

“ _Sure_ he did,” she lures, and Keith doesn't have to be looking at her to see the shit-eating grin on her face. He sighs and grumbles to himself. He’ll never live that down even though it wasn’t his fault in the slightest.

Well…actually…he’d lent Lance his computer so it was definitely his fault. That’s the last time he lets his stuff out of his sight around Lance. He can’t be trusted.

Keith stands and wipes the oil from his hands on his already ratty jeans. He doesn't much care about this pair anyway, they’re one wrong move away from the garbage. “One of your screws is completely stripped so you lost a sprocket,” he explains, “I’ve managed to fix what I can, but you need to take it in first thing tomorrow morning. It won’t hold for long.”

Pidge smiles at him, a rare sight, “Thanks, Keith.”

“No problem, Pidge,” Keith ruffles her hair and she ducks away with a squeal.

“Don’t grease up my hair!”

“It could use some styling,” he snickers.

“Ass.”

He closes the hood of Pidge’s car and walks back over to Red. “Thanks for calling, Pidge.”

She just blinks. “Why are you thanking me?”

Keith pulls his helmet on, “I’d rather you call me late than call some random. I know most likely you’d be fine but…”

“Careful, Keith,” Pidge smirks, “your soul is showing.”

“Oh shut the fuck up and go home already,” Keith rolls his eyes, smiling wide.

Pidge throws him a small salut before climbing in her car. The engine cranks for a few more times than usual, but turns over for her and settles into a comforting purr.

She honks her horn at him softly twice before pulling back out onto the road.

Keith climbs on Red and takes off in the opposite direction.

He goes slower than usual, enjoying the quiet of the late night roads and the feel of wind over the parts of his cheeks through the open shield. This late at this speed, he doesn't need the protection. Shiro would give him shit for it but whatever. He doesn't need to know.

The silence of the apartment halls is calming as he heads up the elevator and down to his room. This late—probably early in this case actually—everyone was definitely sleeping. After midnight wasn’t prime time for conversation, and it felt safe to Keith.

So at the sight of a curled up bundle next to his front door, unease brewed in his stomach and only amplified when the sound of his footsteps make the person’s head snap up.

Lance.

Tear-streaked with tufts of hair pulled in every possible direction and lacking anything but a wrinkled shirt and sweatpants, he forces a smile in Keith’s direction and wipes at his eyes. “H—ey, Keith,” his voice cracks and he stretches his legs out in front of him. “Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?”

He doesn't even have shoes on. Tiny rocks are embedded in his heels, and though they’re caked in dirt, Keith can see blood.

“Lance…did you walk here?” he asks.

“No?” Lance’s eyes squint and he raises an eyebrow with a nervous grin. 

Keith doesn't know what to say. All he knows is the unease has turned into full blown panic. 

“Lance, why are you here?” Keith asks. 

Lance’s expression drops and he sniffles, working to push himself to his feet. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I can go, I know someone showing up at two in the morning isn’t—” he fumbles his hold on the wall and Keith drops his helmet to steady Lance.

“No,” Keith sighs, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…what’s going on? Pidge and Hunk are closer to your place. Why would you walk all the way here…and without shoes?”

Lance stares down with a clenched jaw. He crosses his arms and shifts from one foot to another with a wince. Even without Lance looking at him Keith can tell there’s something he’s fighting to say and it’s taking everything he’s got to form the words.

“He knows where Pidge and Hunk live,” Lance says finally, voice barely a whisper. “Not you. He won’t find me here.”

Keith can’t feel his body.

He doesn’t register picking up his helmet, fishing out his keys, letting him and Lance inside, leading him to the bathroom. He doesn't remember grabbing water, or getting Lance’s old toothbrush, or grabbing a few facecloths.

He only comes back when he’s wiping the dirt from Lance’s hands and notices four, deep red marks on both of his wrists.

“I…um…” Lance pulls back from Keith and tucks his hands under his armpits, “…can I take a shower?”

Keith nods and grabs a clean towel from one of the cupboards in the bathroom. He then digs under the sink into one of the back corners for an old, ratty, toiletry bag and hands it to Lance. Lance takes it with a furrowed brow and undoes the zipper to take a peek inside.

His eyes glaze over instantly

“I thought you’d get rid of these,” he pulls a few small bottles of skincare product out from the small bag and turns them over with his fingers. “I left them almost a year ago.”

Keith shrugs, “I wanted them to be here if you ever forgot yours again.”

The tears bulb and then roll down his cheeks when he blinks, and Keith’s heart leaps into his throat. He gently takes the bag from Lance and sets it on the sink counter before coming to kneel at his feet. 

“I don’t understand,” Lance breathes. “I don’t…why…I’m not…”

Slowly, so Lance can see every move he makes, Keith wraps one arm around Lance’s back and uses his free hand to steady him by the elbow to guide him to his feet. He helps him pull his T-shirt overhead and step into the shower. Lance hands him his sweats through the closed curtain and Keith throws them to join the other dirty clothes in his hamper.

Lance hadn’t even thrown on underwear.

Keith doesn't leave. He sits on the closed toilet seat and lets his head hang between his knees, and once he hears the water start, his breath comes in in stuttering gasps.

He hadn’t thought that this was it.

Lance. Beautiful, kind, amazing Lance, didn’t deserve this. He’d never thought this because…who could possibly do this? Why was this even something that happened at all?

“Keith?”

Keith’s head snaps up to Lance’s poking out through the curtain, hair full of shampoo.

“Can I borrow some clothes?”

Keith nods. “Yeah. I gotta shower when you’re done, so you can grab something while I do.”

Lance nods and ducks back in, “Your shampoo sucks by the way.”

Keith lets out a hard laugh.

When Lance steps out of the shower, Keith switches places with him to peel off the clothes sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. The jeans really do need to go sometime soon, but they’re so good to have when doing quick repairs and he doesn't want to destroy any more of his clothes.

He needs more at some point.

The nearly scalding water soothes his aching muscles and opens his lungs enough to suck down a breath that stretches his whole ribcage. He can do this. He’s been through his fair share of situations. Nothing like this. Never like this. But he knows enough.

Lance is gone from the bathroom when he steps out after rubbing his hair dry. He slings the towel around his hips and shuffles out into his bedroom to grab a shirt and boxers. He doesn't have much left, he was supposed to do laundry days ago, but everything’s been so hectic he’s had no time.

A small ball is visible under the covers of his bed, facing away from him.

He quickly changes, tosses his towel in the hamper with Lance’s, and makes his way over to his bed.

“Do you need me to take the couch?” he asks.

Lance peeks out from under the covers to look at him and shakes his head.

Keith nods and climbs in, sliding until his back is against the wall and there’s a good two feet of space between him and Lance. Lance pulls the covers back under his chin and Keith settles in, eyes tracing over Lance’s features.

“Lance?”

Lance looks to Keith.

He doesn't say anything.

They lay in silence for awhile, breathing soft and shallow, before Lance breaks it.

“This isn’t okay, is it?” he whispers, and Keith doesn't need to ask for Lance to clarify or see him rubbing at his wrists to know they’re talking about more than just the bruises.

“No,” Keith says, finality strong in his voice, “it’s not.”

More silence.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No,” Keith says again, more firmly than before, “you’re not.

More silence.

“Keith?”

“Yeah?”

Lance finally looks at him, full on. “I need out.”

Keith pulls the covers gently away from Lance’s chin and shuffles closer at the same time Lance does, tucking his face into Keith’s chest. He feels shallow breaths ghosting over the skin of his neck and holds Lance tighter as he shakes.

“I’ve got you,” Keith runs a hand through Lance’s hair. “You’re safe.”

Lance nods and wraps an arm around Keith’s back.

“I didn’t know. How didn’t I know?”

Keith draws him in closer, “It’s different when you’re in it. It’s not always as obvious.”

Lance shakes his head, “I should’ve seen it.”

“You don’t always,” Keith says. “It’s not as black and white as it’s usually made out to be.”

“Part of me knew,” Lance whispers. “I let him…Keith…I let…I didn’t want…” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. He can’t finish a thought. Keith can see the gears turning, the thoughts flashing, the voices sounding. He lets out a faint whimper and Keith hushes him softly.

“I know,” his voice is low, “I know.”

“Fuck,” Lance chokes, gripping tightly at the fabric of Keith’s shirt and Keith’s chest aches. Lance doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve any of it.

Keith’s not good with words, but he is good with actions, so he holds Lance while he cries. While he pulls away and screams into a pillow. While he bites his lip until it bleeds and while he curls and uncurls from a ball.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says, finally.

Keith’s looks confused, “Why?”

“He’d always be so upset when I’d see you,” Lance explains. “Not in a controlling way, but it would bother him, and I felt like if I wanted to make him happy…”

“Then you had to stop seeing me.”

Lance nods into his chest, “And it’s not fair to you and I didn’t want to and I’m so sorry.”

Keith slowly untangles Lance from him to pull back and look Lance in the eye. Lance won’t meet his gaze.

“Lance?”

He doesn't look up.

“Lance, please look at me.”

He shakes his head.

Keith sighs. “Lance, all I want is for you to be happy. I’m not upset with you. Not at all. Even when you disappeared I wasn’t upset. I was just worried.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” he mutters.

Keith shakes his head. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.”

“Some of it—”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith presses, “none of this is your fault. Okay?”

Lance shakes his head and pushes Keith’s arms away so he can hide back in Keith’s shirt. “It feels like it is.”

“Doesn’t mean it actually is,” Keith hugs him again, “okay?”

Lance doesn't answer.

Soon, his breathing evens out and his death-grip on Keith releases some. Keith in turn loosens his hold on Lance until they’re just laying next to each other. 

Keith’s sure Lance has fallen asleep when he moves to look up at Keith. “Is it okay if I stay here for awhile?”

Keith nods, “I’ll go get your stuff when I can.”

“You don't have to…” Lance trails off.

“I know, but I will. You’re not going back there if you don't want to.”

Lance nods.

Keith is again sure Lance has fallen asleep when he hears a faint, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Lance,” Keith breathes. “Always.”

When snores finally escape Lance, Keith lets out a long breath and buries his face into his pillow for a bit. He does it slowly to avoid waking Lance before laying his head back down. Lance is tucked into the crook of his neck and Keith doesn’t dare do anything that might pull him out of it.

Anger twists in his gut and Keith can’t suppress the silent snarl over his features at the thought of Lotor. How desperate would Lance have to be to throw on sweats and a dirty shirt and sprint out of his apartment without shoes? And his wrists.

Keith takes a deep breath.

Ultimately, the specifics don’t matter. Lance is here. He’s safe, and Keith is here to make sure it stays that way if he has anything to say about it. He’s not going to let anything happen to Lance. Not again. Not while he’s around.

 

• +1 •

 

It’s a little over a week later that Keith uses the spare house key Lance had given him awhile ago to get into his and Lotor’s apartment. According to Lance, Lotor should be at work all day so Keith’s got time to grab everything of Lance’s he can before Lotor gets back.

He was there when they’d moved in together, and with Lance being as organized as he is, it’s not hard to differentiate his stuff from Lotor’s. The boxes they’d stored everything in when they’d moved were stuffed in the back of one of the closets, and Keith makes quick work of popping them back out and packing Lance’s things with military precision. 

Shiro had shown him on multiple occasions what he’d learned during the few years he’d spent enlisted before his honorable discharge. As annoying as it had been to have Shiro nag him over and over again, he had to admit it came in handy for maximizing the amount of space used.

He’s finishing up getting all of Lance’s clothes and toiletries into one box when there’s a knock at the door.

Keith creeps his way toward the front, almost to the peephole when a voice sounds through, “Lance, buddy, I don't have all day. You want your surprise present or not?”

Keith lets out a low breath as he opens the door to an exhausted looking Hunk.

It takes a few seconds for Hunk to register it’s Keith standing there and not Lance. He looks back and forth between Keith and the apartment number on the door before shaking his head a little. “Either I’ve had way too little sleep and came to the wrong apartment, or you’re in Lance’s apartment, Keith.”

Keith nods, “Yeah. You got the right apartment.”

Hunk cranes his neck around Keith to look inside, “Lance home?”

“Um…” Keith rubs the back of his neck, “no. He’s at my place.”

Hunk’s brow furrows. “So why are you here if Lance isn’t?”

“I’m, um…” Keith doesn't know what to say. It’s not his place to tell Hunk what’s going on. “I’m grabbing Lance’s things.”

Hunk’s exhaustion is immediately replaced with worry. “What’s going on, Keith? Is he okay?”

Keith bites his lip. 

“Keith!”

“Okay, okay!” He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Technically…yes. He’s okay. He’s safe at my place.”

Keith lets his hands drop and Hunk is fidgeting with the box in his hands, nervous. “And ‘not technically’?” he finally manages to ask.

Keith crosses his arms, “‘Not techincally’, is not my story to tell, so I’m not quite sure what to say here Hunk…”

Hunk nods, “You’ve got him though, right?”

“Yes,” Keith says, solid, “I’ve got him.”

“Okay,” Hunk lets out a breath, “that’s all that matters.”

Keith manages a small smile.

“Okay, so then you can take this to him,” he holds out the small box he’s been holding. “Don’t open it though, it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Keith looks back into the apartment, “Actually, you drove here, right?”

Hunk nods.

“I took Red because I thought I could load these boxes into Lance’s car, but it looks like Lotor took it,” it’s not the first time Keith has cussed out Lotor today, and it won’t be the last, “so do you think maybe you could help me load and get Lance’s stuff back to my place?”

Hunk nods again, “Yeah, sure thing, buddy. You almost done?”

“Yeah. Just grabbing a few more things from around the rest of the apartment and we should be good. Wanna help me do a once over and see if I’ve missed anything?” Keith takes a step to the side and Hunk sidles in.

They find a few trinkets under the bed, in the back of a few drawers, and in the front shoe cubbies before deeming the apartment Lance free—the only exception being Lance’s car that they could definitely come back for another time. It wasn’t necessary right now.

They get all the boxes loaded into Hunk’s car in three trips. With a full trunk and backseat, Hunk pulls out ahead of Keith while Keith grabs his helmet.

He’s reaching for his keys at the same time when he’s yanked off his bike by the back of his jacket. Without his balance he stumbles back into a nearby brick wall and finds himself face to face with Lotor.

Keith can barely hold back a guttural growl.

“Where’s Lance,” Lotor asks, voice dangerously low. Angry.

Where the fuck does he get the audacity to be angry?

“Safe from you,” Keith spits, shoving Lotor off him. Lotor definitely wasn’t expecting that and staggers back a few steps before righting himself again.

“What did he tell you?” he asks.

Keith keeps his mouth shut. 

Lotor advances on him, “What did he _tell_ you.” It’s not even a question this time.

“None of your fucking business,” Keith doesn't back away, he just crosses his arms and follows Lotor with his eyes until he has to tilt his chin back slightly.

“He’s my boyfriend, Keith,” he says lowly, teeth bared, “where is he?”

“Not anymore he’s not.”

“Texts don’t fucking count,” Lotor grabs the collar of Keith’s shirt and shoves him back against the brick. “Where is he?”

Keith uncrosses his arms and tries to shove at Lotor again but fails. “Texts fucking count. Calls fucking count. In person fucking counts. All he has to say is the words, ‘This is over,’ and it fucking counts. Learn to take no for a _fucking_ answer.”

He’s barely got the sentence out of his mouth before pain sears down the length of his jaw and his neck is snapping to the side. A hard punch, hurts like a motherfucker, but not the worst he’s ever had. He tongues the inside of his cheek, gathering the blood.

Keith rolls his shoulder’s back and turns on Lotor. A murderous grin splits over his face as he spits at the ground. Nothing feels broken. He’s got all his teeth.

“I was hoping you’d do that,” Keith tells him.

And then he lunges.

The little voice in the back of his head keeps him from completely maiming Lotor as he delivers a few blows to the face, hard enough to make him stay down, but not hard enough to do any fatal or hospital-worthy damage.

He leaves Lotor on the asphalt, nose gushing but definitely not broken. Keith had checked to make sure and revelled in the yelp Lotor let out.

Keith’s breathing is a little labored—Lotor had gotten in a good few punches to his ribs—as he grabs his helmet from the ground and gets back on Red. The visor is cracked and Keith sighs. Not a repair or piece he felt like finding right now.

“Stay away from Lance,” Keith growls, “or I’ll do more than just that.”

Lotor coughs from his spot on the ground, “I’ll send you to jail.”

“I’d go if it meant keeping Lance away from you.”

Keith shoves his helmet on, turns his engine over, and revs out of the parking lot at top speed.

**—**

Hunk is pulling out one of the last two boxes when Keith rides up. “Dude, where’ve you been?”  
****

Keith carefully pulls his helmet off, letting out a low hiss at the pressure it puts on his face. Hunk zeroes in on it immediately, which means there must be some sort of visible mark and Keith groans internally. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to tell Lance about this.

“I’m alright, don't worry,” Keith manages a smile through the soreness of his jaw, “you should see the other guy.” He inwardly cringes at the cliché, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

Hunk sighs, “Keith…”

“Don’t worry about it, Hunk, I’m okay.” Keith sets his helmet on top of the last box and hauls it up. “Let’s go.”

Luckily, the last load isn't too too heavy, and nobody else has used the elevator so they get upstairs quickly and through the door. The box Keith has is full of clothes so he sets it on his bed before coming back out to the living room where Lance is chatting with Hunk.

Hunk gives Lance a quick hug before waving to Keith.

“Thanks for your help, Hunk, really,” Keith smiles, and Hunk nods.

“See you at work,” he says before closing the door behind him. Lance locks it and turns to stare at Keith.

“What?” Keith asks.

“You could have warned me he was coming,” Lance walks back over to Keith, “he scared the shit out of me.”

Keith presses a palm to his forehead, “Fuck. Yeah. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

Lance goes quiet for a minute before asking, “Does he know anything? Or…”

Keith shakes his head, “No. He just wanted to know if you were okay. He knows something happened but he doesn't know what, though with us getting your stuff he can put two and two together that it’s got something to do with Lotor.”

Lance lets out a heavy breath, “Alright. Sorry.”

Keith looks at him, confused, “Why are you sorry?”

“Overreacting again,” Lance says softly.

Keith takes a few steps closer to Lance and sets his hands on Lance’s shoulders. “Hey,” he waits until Lance looks at him, “it’s your business who you tell. Hunk understands that. He just wants to know you’re alright. Nobody’s gonna be mad if you don’t tell them what’s going on.”

Lance nods and covers one of Keith’s hands with his own, “I just…don’t want to deal with it right now.”

“Okay,” Keith lets his hands drop. “That’s perfectly fine.”

Lance laughs, “Fuck, Keith, you…you’re just…I can’t— _what happened?!”_ Lance’s laugh dies as he zeroes in on Keith’s face.

Fingers find his cheeks and twist his head so Lance can gently prod at his jaw. Keith hisses at the contact and tries to pull back but Lance just steps forward and shuffles in closer.

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters, but with Lance warping the shape of his mouth he’s surprised Lance can understand him at all.

“Keith, your jaw is like…black…what the fuck?” Lance grabs his hand as he heads in the direction of the bathroom and Keith just relents. Easier to go along with it.

When they get there, Lance pats on the countertop and Keith hops up to sit on it. At this height, he’s eye level with Lance who’s grabbed his hands again and is staring intently at his knuckles.

“What happened, Keith?” he asks again, dread in his voice evident that he already knows the answer.

Keith flinches at Lance peeling off one of his gloves, and then the other. “Lotor cornered me in the parking lot, asking where you were. He wouldn’t take a hint.”

Lance eyes Keith as he turns the faucet on. “You provoked him?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. He was refusing to call your text a valid breakup and I told him he needs to learn to take no for an answer. Then he decked me.”

Lance grabs a cloth from one of the drawers, “Keith…” 

“He’s worse off than I am. Bruised jaw and ribs and bloody knuckles? I’ve had worse,” he mutters. 

“Fuck, Keith,” Lance holds the cloth under the tap and wrings out the excess water, “you shouldn’t have done that.”

Keith clenches his jaw at the sting of water in the cuts. “I know you probably still have feelings for him, Lance, but—”

“I don’t,” Lance says sternly. “And honestly? I don’t know if I ever did.”

Keith blinks.

“He…” Lance shakes his head, “…he did this thing, I don’t know if he was aware that he was doing it or not, where he made me think and feel that if I didn’t feel a certain way about him, there was something wrong with me.” He’s gentle with Keith as he moves from one of his hands to the other.

“So I forced myself because I thought it was the right thing to do, and when I didn’t feel that way, I felt like absolute shit,” he doesn't look at Keith, just keeps his gaze on Keith’s fingers. “I cared about him, sure…but I was never in love with him.”

Lance pauses in his actions.

“Does that make me a bad person?” he asks quietly. “For being with someone I didn’t have those kinds of feelings for?”

Keith clears his throat to find his voice. “No. You don’t always feel those things for someone right away, Lance. You just…never fell in love with him. It just didn’t happen. There’s nothing wrong with you because of that.”

Lance swallows. His gaze falls back to Keith’s face and he ghosts the backs of his fingers over where Lotor hit him. “I wish you hadn’t, because I hate it when you’re hurt.”

“If it means keeping you safe, I don’t care,” Keith says simply.

Lance just blinks at him.

Keith takes the silence as an opportunity to hop down from the counter and head back out in the direction of his kitchen. It’s been a long morning…afternoon…day…thing. Whatever. He needs something warm to drink.

He’s pulling a mug down from one of the cupboards when he notices the box Hunk had had sitting innocently on the table. He hears Lance’s footsteps and then he’s standing in the doorway.

Keith nods in the direction of the present as he plugs in the electric kettle. “So what’s in there anyway?”

Lance looks confused before following Keith’s gaze to the box. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips and he quickly snatches it up and thrusts it out toward Keith.

Keith blinks, sets his empty mug down, and takes it. “Wasn’t it for you?”

Lance nods, “Yeah, but it was really for you.”

Keith’s brow furrows as he pulls at the twine tied in a bow. “Why would Hunk be giving you something that’s meant for me? Does he know? Or…”

Lance shakes his head, “No. Well…I mean he might…but it’s more of a surprise really and kind of for your birthday and I know you don’t really want people knowing about it so it was something I got him to work on in passing and…yeah.”

Lance stops talking when Keith pulls a small glass jar out that looks like its full of small brown pellets. He looks at it quizzically before pulling out the cork and giving it a sniff.

Coffee.

Keith deflates, “Lance, I hate to break it to you—”

“You haven’t been able to drink coffee in over a month, right?”

Keith blinks. “How did you know that?”

Lance waves him off. “I’m me. I know everything.” He lights back up as he bounds over and takes the glass container from him and grabs a spoon from Keith’s cutlery drawer. “So I asked Hunk if he could work on some modified instant coffee that had all the pick-me-up-in-the-morning-so-I’m-not-a-dead-college-student effects, without losing the taste.” The kettle comes to a boil and Lance grabs the mug Keith’d set down to make him a cup.

Soon, the fresh smell of coffee is filling his nose and Keith wants to cry.

“Try it,” Lance coaxes, holding the mug out.

Keith takes it.

The coffee washes over his tastebuds, warming his mouth and making his tongue curl with the bitter taste. The flavor intensifies as he swallows, half-burning a trail down his esophagus to his stomach before settling in to churn in his belly.

He stands there, eyes closed, waiting a few minutes for the telltale pain to set in.

It doesn’t.

Keith’s eyes fly open to meet Lance’s.

“How…” he trails off.

Lance is beaming.

His skin glows, his teeth shine, his eyes are full of elation. He’s biting his lip and buzzing in his skin, eager for Keith’s words and excited for the outcome. He bounces on his heels, impatience showing physically as he holds himself back from asking the tons of questions Keith knows he wants to ask. He’s purely, unmistakably Lance in a way Keith hasn’t seen in a long time.

And good fucking god does Keith ever want to kiss him.

No sooner does the thought pass through Keith’s mind then does he grip the coffee in his hands so his body doesn't move on its own.

What the fuck?

And it hits him all at once.

His chest blooms, his body curls into itself slightly, and he lets one hand move from the mug to the counter to steady himself. The ache in his chest turns into something relaxed, flowing through every part of his body and making everything from his bones to his skin tingle. He lets out an exasperated breath and looks from the coffee in his hands up to Lance.

Lance who’s now looking at him worried instead of excited.

“Holy _shit_ , I’m in love with you,” he breathes, incredulous, setting the mug down and then looking back to Lance. “Holy fuck…Lance…I love you.”

Lance just stares at Keith.

Then it hits him, what he just said.

“Oh god,” Keith whispers, “fuck…shit…ignore me…I’m sorry…this is the last thing you need to be worrying about right now with everything you’re dealing with and I’m being super creepy and this is the absolute worst timing and I swear I’ll just go throw myself off a cliff so you never have to see me again what the fuck am I thinking, shit, shit, shit—”

And he can no longer talk because Lance’s lips are on his, firmly enough to shut him up before they’re gone entirely.

Lance crosses his arms, gaze pointed deliberately away from Keith. 

Keith just stands there dumbstruck.

“What was that for?” he finally manages.

Lance bites his lip and ducks his head as a blush stains his cheeks. “I wanted to see if you tasted like coffee.”

They stand there awkwardly for a few minutes before Keith takes a deep breath.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Can…can I kiss you?”

Lance finally, _finally_ , looks at Keith with those big blue eyes, and nods.

Ever so slowly, Keith brings his hands up to cradle Lance’s face and steps in close, giving him every opportunity to pull away as he traces thumbs over cheekbones and slants his mouth against Lance’s.

Lance, is so soft.

He brings Lance in close, fingers in his hair as he presses a kiss into Lance’s lips. Soft, tender, because that’s all he wants, really. Lance is everything to Keith, always has been in a way Keith’s never known before, so how would he have known he’s in love with him?

Keith has never been selfish in a possessive way with Lance, he’s always wanted Lance to be happy. He’s always wanted Lance to be okay and to have everything good happen to him, because Lance deserves it. He deserves the world.

And right now, with Lance, Keith wants to love him.

And Lance is okay with that.

So Keith shows him.

With his tongue along Lance’s top lip, Keith feels the nights they’d spent walking around the neighbourhood after dark, just talking. With a pull back and kiss to his lower lip, Keith feels the times Lance had just stayed on the phone with him when he needed someone there. With a lip between his teeth, Keith feels the sadness at losing Lance as much as he had, and with an open mouthed kiss, he feels just the desire for Lance to be happy and feel that he’s amazing.

Keith goes to pull back, but then Lance’s fingers are weaving into his hair and Lance is the one in control.

Hands move from his hair to his face as Lance licks into Keith’s mouth and pulls him in greedily, hungrily. He chases Keith with a soft gasp and Keith can barely do anything but hold on, gripping at Lance’s waist to steady himself. He feels Lance shift on bent knees and follows suit as his body moves on autopilot to catch Lance like he has so many times before. 

But never like this.

He sets Lance on the counter and finds himself drawn in close by Lance’s legs curled around his back, pulling him flush against Lance’s own torso. He grips at Lance’s hips and runs his palms along the smooth skin of his back as Lance slows his pace. His lips move against Keith’s enveloping his top lip, tugging at his lower lip, pressing against his mouth, pliant under Lance.

Lance lazily lets them break apart and lays his forehead against Keith’s shoulder, chest heaving.

“I…” Lance’s breathing is uneven, “I just…god, I’ve wanted this for forever…but fuck…this is…”

Keith nods, “I know.”

“With…I mean…Keith I can’t…I can’t do another relationship…” his voice wavers and Keith just pulls him close.

“Lance,” he says softly, “I don't need anything romantic from you. I’ve never needed that in our relationship. If you want one one day, when you feel you’re ready, then that’s something I would love.” He pulls back to cradle Lance’s face. “But you don't owe me anything and I don’t expect anything from you. Okay?”

Lance nods in Keith’s hands and leans into one of his palms. “Okay.”

They stay like that, foreheads pressed together, until Lance shifts and Keith backs up to let him drop to his feet. Lance doesn't move away though, instead he wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders and holds him close.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“You’re welcome,” Keith answers.

When they pull apart, Keith grabs his coffee again and Lance puts the lid back in the jar. At Keith’s warm smile, Lance grins. “I’m glad you’re happy with it,” he voices. “I wanted a way for your mornings to be a ‘little less shitty.’” He air quotes the familiar words of Keith’s, and Keith laughs.

“Lance,” he rolls his eyes and walks over, kissing him chastely on the cheek, “you make my _life_ a little less shitty.”

And Lance’s answering blush and squeak as he covers his face is the best music he’s heard in a really long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I only know a bit of my own experience dealing with abusive relationships, so I don't speak for everyone with what happens in this story with Lance. That being said, to those of you who are going through or maybe have gone through something similar, you're strong. You will make it through this. There is a way out. You can get out. *virtual hugs*
> 
> ____________
> 
> A few things that didn't make it into the fic. Here are everyone's programs:
> 
> Keith - astronomy and astrophysics major  
> Lance - general studies  
> Pidge - Robotics Engineering Major  
> Hunk - Major - food engineering  
> Minor - humanities  
> (Hunk is majoring in food engineering because he wants to help develop foods that can withstand extreme conditions so that those who are starving in those countries won't go hungry anymore.)
> 
>  
> 
> Shiro - TA - masters in psychology  
> Matt - TA - masters in psychology and robotics (working toward developing AI)  
> Allura - TA - masters in anthropology  
> Coran - anthropology professor & cafe owner.
> 
> ____________
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Let me know what you think ^^


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